


The Things We've Seen

by MarvelousEllenT



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Barebacking, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Cock Warming, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Rimming, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-04-07 14:45:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19087180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelousEllenT/pseuds/MarvelousEllenT
Summary: Sort of an Endgame fix-it where everyone is alive and doing their thing at the compound or elsewhere after the snap.Steve and Peter bond over their experiences and grow close. In the end they both just want someone to understand.





	1. Chapter 1

It's about midnight at the beginning of June. Steve's out reading on the terrace of the compound as he always does. He's trying to catch up on decades of horror films in a book Bruce recommended when he hears a soft thud. 

Peter's there when he looks up, mask off and toting a backpack. He's sweaty and out of breath and it's not the first time Steve's been... intrigued by the younger man.

"Hey Steve! I'm glad you're up, I brought back Pizza from Brooklyn," Peter says, pulling a box from his backpack. 

It's from a place Steve told him about nights ago. They enjoy it while talking about what it was like growing up in New York in such drasticaly different time periods. 

If Steve feels himself burning hot when Peter licks pizza sauce from his fingers, his excuse is the summer heat. 

It becomes a normal thing. A couple days a week they sit outside, eat pizza or hot dogs or subs, and they talk. They talk about Steve and the truths and myths to the stories Peter knows, they talk about how Peter got his powers. Most importantly they talk about grieving, what this modern war-torn planet has put them through. 

It's a nice change of pace from his counseling circles where no one gets what it's like to be relied on as a first and last line of defense. Peter likes to thank him for listening afterward but he feels like he does most of the talking. 

Either way Steve feels a little less heavy each time they speak.

He's sparring with Thor in the gym when he overhears Nat and Carol cooling down on the cycles.

"You'll never guess what spidey asked me this morning," Carol starts, "he wanted to know how to get an older guy."

Steve catches a right hook from Thor that sends him straight to the ground and he stays there for a moment. He's not thrilled about the competition but is more than pleased with Peter's new-found type. 

A few days later Peter comes grumbling in through the elevator while Steve's watching an Italian film on the couch. 

"Something wrong?" Steve asks, pausing his movie. He's got a strange protective instinct bubbling up that he hasn't felt in ages.

"Just a long day," the younger replies, dumping his bag and shoes by the door before making his way over to Steve. Out of the entire 6-seat sectional Peter choses to plop down next to him, leaning his head back on Steve's arm that rests on the back of the sofa. 

Cap looks over to him, questioning, but Peter's eyes are already shut. There are some dark circles but he's still beautiful, long eyelashes and pointy nose and soft lips. Steve just wiggles a little closer, pulls him in, and presses play. 

Steve leaves before Peter wakes up, but he drapes a blanket over him and presses a kiss to the dark brown curls around his temple.

Tony gets the crew together before he leaves for Wakanda on some nerdy tech trip. It's a week before July 4th but Tony wanted to celebrate Cap's birthday before he leaves. 

Happy's on the grill beside the pool and there's alcohol everywhere. Thor made sure to bring the stuff that gets Steve buzzed. Everyone's swimming, playing games, laughing and having a blast. Peter's the last to show up and Steve's been waiting for hours. 

He shows up in tight, short, red swim trunks and a crop top with Captain America's shield on it. Before Steve can take a step toward him, Peter's swarmed by Nat and Carol and Wanda. 

It's a good thing because Steve's grip had tightened on his bottle and his jaw had clenched. He takes a few deep breaths and looks up and down at Peter's strong thighs, tight ass, slender waist, shining smile. He grabs a fruity drink and heads Peter's way. 

"Nice shirt," Steve tells Peter from behind. Pete stiffens in his place next to a lounge chair as his shirt's halfway over his head. 

Once his shirt's off Peter turns with a flushed face. 

"Thanks, I got it just for the party," he grins. The shirt, now discarded, lies in a valley between cute hero worship and debauched possession and it makes Steve's gut twist.

"I'm glad you could make it," Steve tells him and hands him the drink. Peter takes a few gulps and Steve appreciates the way the younger man's throat works it down. 

He's shirtless now and Steve loves it, the tiny pink nipples, the lithe dancer's physique. He wants to see how his own hands dwarf Peter, how the bones and skin and muscle work under his hands. 

Peter gasps for air when he finishes half the cup and looks at Steve. 

"Wouldn't miss it," he says with slick, wet lips and Steve's glad when Carol calls him from the pool. 

They eat and then lounge more and Peter drags Steve to be his beer pong partner. When they win Peter leans up on his tip-toes to plant a sloppy, rum scented kiss on his cheek, hands planted on Steve's pecks. For a moment Steve lets his hand grab Peter's slender waist under the guise of steadying him and the soft skin makes him feel weightless.

Nat whoops at them and it makes them both blush, but Steve's sensing something's off. 

When he returns from the bathroom Peter's doing a double shot with the girls and he realizes that tonight won't be the night that he makes a move. 

When the sun sets everyone has wound down a bit and Peter prys himself away from the karaoke machine to stumble up to Steve. 

"Happy Birthday Mr.America," Peter giggles and slips an arm through Steve's.

"Thanks, Pete. How you feeling?" 

"Pretty drunk," Peter nods. Steve makes sure their arms stay linked together and leads the younger man inside to the kitchen. Peter clings to him and asks what they're doing. 

"You need some water," Steve replies, filling up a glass. Peter thanks him and swallows it down. He's got the Captain America shirt back on and Steve has to consciously will the blood away from his dick as he watches it ride up and expose pale, toned skin. 

Peter drinks the first glass quickly and pours himself another, then leans into Steve. Steve places an arm around him, marveling at how small Peter feels in his hold. 

"Thanks Cap," Peter mumbles, "I think I should lay down." 

Steve agrees but isn't ready to let the kid choke on his own vomit, so he leaves Peter on the couch for a moment to fetch pillows and blankets. 

Steve watches the fireworks that Tony arranged from inside, with Peter sleeping in his lap. 

This time Steve falls asleep with him, spoons him from behind and gets better rest than he has in a long while. 

Peter's not there when he wakes up and he's nervous for the rest of the morning. Finally, after breakfast and a workout and then lunch, Peter stumbles in wearing that same crop top and a pair of loose plaid pajama bottoms that sort of match. He looks hungover and gorgeous with puffy cheeks, tired eyes, and messy hair. 

"How you feeling?"" Steve repeats his question from last night and he gets a groan in response. 

"Thanks for taking care of me," Peter smiles, sheepish and sleepy. Steve's heart starts to pound. 

"You wanna know the best hangover cure?" Steve asks, and Peter's face twists in surprise. 

"What's that?"

"A peanutbutter milkshake. Go get dressed if you want to survive the day," Steve says and sends Peter off with a hand to the small of his back. Peter salutes, mumbles 'yes sir,' and heads to his room.

He returns looking more decent, but just barely. He keeps the same crop top on and adds tight black skinny jeans like he's trying to push Steve over the edge. 

They make their way down to the garage and when Steve stops at his bike Peter gets a wild look in his eye. 

"You trust me?" Steve asks with a smile.

Peter just nods. 

"Just hold on tight then," he says and hands Peter a helmet. 

He presses so close to Steve that he can feel the younger man's heartbeat against his back. Peter's hands wrap around his torso and lay against his abs and he starts the bike to muffle his involuntary groan. 

Steve takes it slow, enjoys the way Peter squeezes him tight when he shifts gears or dips through a turn. They end up at a little shack beside a lake. When they get off the bike Peter sheds his helmet and a thrilled look shines on his face. 

"That was my first time on a motorcycle," he tells Steve and the older man gets a little inkling of pride at how his breath is a little faster and his cheeks are pink. 

Steve buys them two millshakes and they take cover in the shade under some trees. Peter's leaned up against the bark, suckling on his straw and Steve thinks it's a dream. He's asking questions about the bike and his eyes are glowing like amber in the sunlight. 

As Steve's explaining how the clutch works, Pete pops the lid off of his cup and tips it up to his mouth. 

Whipped cream adorns hip lips when he pulls the cup away. Steve stops mid-sentence when a cherry-red tongue licks all but one big drop from his mouth. 

Peter's looking at him expectantly to finish his sentence but he can't stop himself from leaning in and pressing his lips against Peter's, tasting the sweet cream and licking it away. He feels Peter's hand grasp the back of his neck and he pulls away. 

He suddenly has no words in his vocabulary. He thinks he's fucked up big time but then Peter's pulling him close by a beltloop and kissing him again. 

Peter tastes just as sweet as Steve imagined he would, and he licks and bites playfully. Steve's never gotten so worked up over a kiss. He's hard enough that it's inappropriate to be in public and he pulls away.

They're softly huffing and they stare at each other for a while. Peter's still got their hips locked together and he's looking up at Steve with wide eyes, knitted brows, and the pinkest lips Steve's ever seen. 

Peter's hand moves from Steve's neck to cup his jaw and he sighs. 

"All this time I've been plotting to get with you and all it took was one shirt," Peter finally speaks up, face breaking into a grin. Steve wants to kiss all the smile lines. 

"I'm a simple man, you didn't even need the shirt," Steve jokes, pressing their lips together again. "I like you," he mumbles into their kiss. It might be cheesy but he thinks Peter should know. 

Peter actually giggles and it makes Steve reach down and squeeze his bare hips. 

"I like you, too. A lot. I thought it was a lost cause, since I'm so young and from Queens and stuff," Peter jokes. 

"I don't think age matters much anymore, after the ice, after the snap. I'm just happy to have someone who knows what I've been through," Steve starts, "and the whole Queens thing... it's hard to care when you're this cute."

Peter's flushing red again and worrying his plump bottom lip between his teeth when he speaks up.

"I know what you mean though. Aside from your whole... perfect physique thing going on I just... like who I can be with you. The stuff we go through, it's not like anyone really understands." 

Peter's taking the thoughts from Steve's head and his lust starts to make room for something softer, like adoration. His hands are still grasping Peter's sides and he's getting a rush from it all. This little thing, sweet as pie and gorgeous and bright, he's Steve's now. He's Steve's to love and protect and keep. 

"Take me for a ride?" Peter asks, doe eyes wide as they peer up at Steve. His brain shorts out for a quick moment but who could blame him? Peter knows what he's doing with his parted lips and and the subtle squirming that rubs their crotches together. 

"Is that what you want? You want me to show off my pretty new boyfriend?" Steve asks, tightening his hands on Peter's waist. 

Peter drops the sultry act momentarily to beam up Steve. 

"Yes please," he smiles and runs a hand along the ripples of Steve's torso. 

"Well, since you asked so nice," Steve smiles, laces their fingers together and leads them back to his bike.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just shameless smut with a little fluff in there.

Steve takes Peter on a route he rides when he needs to get his mind off of things. He knows it well, knows it's pretty safe so he can relax and enjoy the open road and the younger man's embrace. 

Peter clutches to him the entire time, arms wrapped around him in a hug from behind. His hands wander, smooth over his abs and pecks mischievously. On straight roads Steve reaches his left hand down to stroke Peter's thigh and enjoys the feeling of warm breath puffing on his neck. 

As they get closer to the compound Peter gets more bold, reaches further down to slide a hand under the whipping fabric of Steve's shirt. One small bump and Steve can feel Peter's hard on press against his lower back when they shift, feel the purr in Peter's chest against him. 

Steve uses his left hand to grab Peter's and rest it on his own half hard cock. That's all it takes and Peter's rubbing and squeezing and slightly shifting his hips. 

Steve's knuckles are white on the throttle and he responsibly high-tails it back to the garage. Peter has to let up, there are guards and cameras heavy at the entrance. He's still pressed tight against Steve's back, though, squirming and humming. 

Steve parks and lets Peter get off before he dismounts as well. When he turns Peter's got his helmet off, his hair is messy and sweaty and his cheeks are red and his lips are all and wet and swollen like he'd been biting them the whole ride back. 

It takes everything Steve has in him to keep from laying Peter down on the gas tank, but there'd be plenty of time for that. 

"How was that?" Steve asks, shedding his own helmet. 

"So fun, thank you," Peter smiles up at Steve with hazy eyes. 

"You... uhh... have any plans for the day?" Steve asks, and Peter immediately shakes his head in response. "Wanna come up to my room?"

"Sounds good to me," he says and grabs Steve's hand. 

They make it to the elevator before they kiss again, Steve up against the wall with Peter between his legs. Its tender and slow and Steve can't keep his hands off of the skin exposed by Peter's crop top, even after they break their kiss and the doors open. 

Carol and Nat are in the kitchen when they walk past the common area, they both see Steve's possessive grip on Peter's side and only nod their acknowledgment. It's hard for Steve to care about them knowing when he wants to shout "I'm dating Peter Parker" from the rooftops.

They steer their way to Steve's room. They'd never been in each other's rooms before but Steve imagines they look similar, with a small sofa/living space and a hallway that leads to a master bed and bath. 

He shuts and locks the door and turns to watch Peter take in the place. Turns out Peter's much more interested in him. He's pulling Steve in by his neck in one swoop and Steve responds by scooping the younger man up bridal style. 

He wants to make Peter squeak like that more often, high-pitched and giddy. 

"Tell me what you want," Steve says, though he thinks he knows the answer.

Peter's gaze makes Steve freeze in place halfway down the hallway. His eyes are so glazed that he looks stoned and he feels limp in Steve's hold. 

"I want everything you wanna give me," he says. His voice is softer and higher and breathier and it goes straight to Steve's groin. 

He barely gets to the bed, lays Peter down gingerly and straddles him. They're hungry when their lips meet, all tongues and teeth. They bite and suck playfully and Peter's making sweet, soft noises and grinding his hips up into Steve. 

"Let me see you, sweetheart," the older man says, pulling away to slide his hands under Peter's shirt. 

He's all lean and toned and pale and his abs flex as he sits up to pull off the garment. Steve's entranced, his hands look enormous as they skate across smooth skin. 

"Tickles," Peter whispers and giggles. Steve looks up to see pearly white teeth and shiney brown eyes and has to kiss him all over again. 

While they nip at each other, Peter grabs Steve's hands in his own and pulls them above his head. Like instinct Steve grabs both thin wrists in one hand and Peter hums and cants his hips up. 

"Yeah?" Steve asks, eyebrow quirked and close enough to feel Peter panting on his face. 

"Yeah, please," Peter nods frantically. Steve can get behind this, feels his dick jerk and throb against his jeans as he squeezes Peter's wrists and listens to him moan. 

Steve's been with a few guys, all after the serum, and the majority liked it rough. But none of them were ever this submissive or responsive. They all wanted to push back; Peter takes it. 

And he takes it beautifully. 

He's writhing under Steve as the older man trails little bites all over his neck. He's telling Peter how soft he is, how sweet his skin tastes, no filter between his thoughts and his vocal chords. 

Steve stops at a perky, pink nipple and blows cool air, squeezes Peter's wrists tighter when he arches his back. He sucks it into his mouth, teases it with little bites and then does the same to the other, enjoys how noisy Peter is under his tongue. 

Steve releases his hands to go further down and Peter whines. Steve ignores it and plants open-mouthed kisses all over his jumping stomach, bites down on the thin skin over his hipbones. 

"Can I take these off you?" Steve asks, hooking a finger under Peter's waistband. He nods, still stretched out with his hands above his head obediently. 

Steve works open his fly to reveal dark, thick hair and he smiles. 

"Making it easy for me?" Steve asks with a wicked smirk, peeling the skin-tight jeans from Peter's legs. 

"Mmm-hhmmm," he shivers, goosebumps bubbling under Steve's fingertips that graze his thighs. He's biting on one of his fingers and looking down at Steve like he'd just given him the world.

"Aren't I lucky?" Steve sighs. He takes in the sight before him: miles of taught, porcelain skin and right in the middle a long, dripping dick that curves up and jerks every time Steve looks at Peter the right way. 

He's definitely lucky. 

"Give me your hands, angel," Steve mumbles. Peter does as he's told and sighs at his nickname. His limbs are like jelly. Steve easily pins Peter's hands to his hips, and then his hips to the mattress. 

"Harder," Peter whispers so low Steve can barely hear. He complies, squeezes tighter and then takes the pink, slick tip of Peter's dick into his mouth. 

He moans out and struggles for the briefest of moments, pushing up against Steve's hands and then going limp again.

Steve thinks he gets even harder when he thinks about how strong Peter is, how he could give Steve a run for his money but instead wants to be held down, wants to take what Steve gives him. 

Steve moans around Peter's length, takes him further and bobs his head and starts to rub himself off on the mattress in a desperate reach for some relief. 

Steve's never lusted so much after a partner. His cock is leaking just hearing Peters sounds. He gasps like he's taking his first breath, he moans like he's never been touched before. 

Steve works his mouth down to the hilt and looks up at Peter. Peter's looking at him too, fists flexing and mouth gaping. 

"Can I have more?" he asks sweetly, hair matted down with sweat. 

Steve pulls off slowly, licking into Peter's slit before asking, "Can you tell me what you want?" 

He whines and struggles against Steve again and Steve loves the veins that pop in his arms, wants to trace over them soon. 

"It's okay, I just need to hear you say it, sweetheart. I'll take care of you, " Steve promises, lets Peter's wrists go to grab his face and kiss his wet, bitten lips. 

He's so shy now and Steve wonders just how far he's been with the guys Steve overhears him talking about with the ladies. 

"Eat my ass, and then fuck me?" 

Steve jolts, his hips press down into Peter and he hisses when denim scratches against his sensitive cock. 

"Sorry, fuck," Steve stutters and sits back on Peter's thighs. 

"We don't have to," Peter says. His face is a dark red and it splotches down to his heaving chest. 

"No no no, I want to. You're just so... filthy," Steve grins, scooting down to kiss over Peter's thighs. The sparse, blonde hair there tickles his nose and he runs his hands over the tomed muscle. "Turn over for me."

Peter does, gets up on his knees and puts himself on display for Steve. Still fully clothed, he reaches to palm himself with one hand and grab a handful of Peter's ass with the other. 

He's beautiful, blonde fuzzy hair like a peach and the smallest little pink pucker. It's spasming under Steve's gaze and the breeze. 

"Gorgeous," Steve huffs out and he can hear Peter's responsive noises even with his face buried in the comforter. 

He pulls Peter's hands behind his back and holds his wrists in one hand again. He starts to knead one ass cheek and kiss the other, then buries his face, tongue flat against Peter's hole. 

"Aww, fuck," he hears, muffled by the mattress, and he smiles. 

Peter's tense, but Steve has all evening to open him up. He doesn't even breach until Peter's fully relaxed, just licks and lightly sucks around the rim. 

It feels like he's lapping at him forever before he feels Peter let go, feels the soft velvet give under his tongue. The younger man is bucking back into him and wimpering and wiggling his fingers in Steve's grip. 

He still takes his time, entering him with the tip of his tongue and rolling it slowly. He thinks if he doesn't get his pants off soon they're going to rip under the strain. But he can't pull away, couldn't pull away if the universe depended on it. 

He dutifully continues until he's as deep as he can get and Peter's more or less screaming and then he adds a finger. 

He's drooling by now and his jaw is aching a little so he pulls back, asks Peter if he's okay as he pumps a finger in and out. 

The younger man has to shift his head to the side to respond and he sounds wrecked when he does. 

"So good, please fuck me. I can take it," he pleads. His back arches so gracefully and his ass pushes back, taking Steve's finger deeper. 

He whines when Steve withdraws and the older man coos at him as he sheds his shirt, pants, and then briefs. Peter's propped himself up his elbows and is looking at Steve when he reaches for the lube on the nightstand. 

"You look gorgeous," he says, all out of breath. It's Steve's turn to flush red as he straddles Peter again and covers his small body with his own. He kisses the shell of Peter's ear and threads their fingers together. 

"You're just sweet as sugar," Steve whispers, "so sweet, so pretty."

His dick is sandwiched between Peter's cheeks and he's thrusting slow and shallow, dragging against Peter's hole and the younger man can't stay quiet. 

"Want you so bad, Steve, please," he begs as he pushes back against him. 

"I've got you," he says and sits back on his heels. He covers himself in lube and drizzles it down Peter's crack, fucks it into him with two fingers until he sounds like he's crying to be taken. 

Steve lines up and feels gutted by the heat that warms the tip of his dick. 

"C'mon," Peter breathes, and Steve presses forward and is swallowed up by the most deliciously soft, scalding velvet he's ever felt around his cock. "Be gentle," Peter warns and Steve is so, so gentle. 

He gauges Peter's breathing and slides in slow, stops when Peter feels too tense. When he's finally all the way he lays on Peter again, grabbing his wrists once more, holding himself up the slightest bit with his free hand. 

"You're so big," Peter moans, "feels perfect."

"You're perfect," Steve whispers into Peter's neck and starts to pull out. 

Every time he presses back in Peter moans or whines or gasps like it's being fucked out of him. It's almost painfully slow, like an itch he can't scratch, but he's also working on lasting longer than two minutes. 

Peter's soft skin is all under him, slick with each other's sweat and goosebumped. Steve's whispering to Peter, telling him how good he feels into the back of his neck when the boy finally forms words again. 

"If you fuck me hard enough I can come like this," he says, demanding, and Steve's always one to follow orders. 

He pulls Peter's hands behind his back again and holds them there, uses his free hand to pull Peter's hips up so he can pull out and slam back in. Peter screams affirmation, tries to slam his hips back into Steve's thrusting. 

He knows he won't last now, Peter's clenching around him tight and he's so loud. He gets louder with every thrust until he hardly has breath left, then he starts making obscene, fucked-out sounds that have Steve thrusting erratically. 

"Gonna cum for me?" he pants, squeezing the wrists in his grasp. 

"So close, harder," Peter gasps out. 

Steve assumes it's the spidey powers because he's going at 80% and isn't sure how he hasn't broken yet. He obliges, dropping Peter's hands so he can grab both hips. 

Sweat's pouring now, his torso's slippery and their skin is sticking together and it's starting to get too hot. He's thrusting almost as hard as he can, impaling the younger man and manhandling him back onto his cock and Peter's taking it like he was made for it. 

Before he knows it Peter's crying out his name and collapsing with Steve still inside him, quivering and grasping at the bedsheets above his head as he spurts all over the bed. 

Steve can feel every muscle in his ass contract around him, feels Peter's overstimulated twitching and he pumps in deep and rough a dozen times before spilling into Peter. 

Peter moans more, clenches tighter at the feeling of being filled before Steve pulls out slow. 

He feels like he's getting his land legs back when he takes a few steps to grab his discarded shirt. He wipes himself off then cleans Peter gently where he's leaking Steve's seed. 

Good enough for now, Steve throws the shirt to the floor once more then cuddles up to Peter's side, stroking his hand across the sweaty skin of his back. 

"You make me feel like a champ," Steve gushes, and Peter turns his head toward Steve. 

His pupils are still blown wide, eyes bloodshot and watery and he's such a vision. He doesn't say anything, just hums as his eyes droop. 

"Are you okay, angel? Was it good?" Steve's a little concerned, afraid Peter asked for more than he could handle. 

Peter smiles then. 

"It was the best," he says, "can you just hold me?" 

Of course Steve can. He cradles his new partner in his arms, strokes his lax back muscles and kisses his forehead until he feels himself dozing off.

As he peels a drowsy Peter off the bedding and corrals him into the shower, he wonders what he'll have to do to keep a life like this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little plotty, mostly fluff, a little smut thrown in for good measure. Lots of plot coming up in Chapter 4.

Their evening is perectly lazy. After their shower, Peter curls up in Steve's arms in a way that makes him feel impossibly tiny. He asks Steve if he's ever watched Harry Potter and spends the rest of his energy sleepily reprimanding Steve for skipping over the "pop cultural gold mine." 

The younger gets Friday to cue up all eight movies. Steve is ready to sit through at least half but Peter's snoring on his shoulder before Harry even meets Hagrid. 

Once the movie ends and it's clear Peter's down for the count, Steve gives in to his rumbling stomach. 

Natasha's in the kitchen sipping a glass of red wine and reading a small hard cover.

Since the snap and everything Steve had done to get her back while returning the stones, she's been living at the compound. She's really the only reason any of them stay here, and why the ones that don't live in the compound stop by very often now. She was the one who made everyone value each other again, put their egos aside and be a family.

She looks up at Steve when he opens the fridge and instantly grins, dog-earing her page and setting the book down. 

"Having a nice day?" 

Steve buries his heated face in the fridge and gathers ingredients for spaghetti to think of what to say to her. 

"I am, actually," he settles on, closing the door to look at her. She's not being insincere, her eyes crinkle in a grin. 

"Glad you two could catch each other." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Steve wonders aloud. 

"Peter asked Carol for some pretty... Steve-specific crush advice a few weeks ago. We never pried or anything but he's not subtle," she tells him. 

He unpacks the information as he searches for pans, feeling a little pressured. 

"So he's like, really sweet on me?" Steve asks to confirm and Natasha chuckles. 

"He really is, for the right reasons too, it seemed. Just don't go overcomplicating things like you do. If you have feelings for him, show him. And, as his spider-mom, I suggest you not be anything but respectful."

"I like him too, okay. He's good for me, I wanna be good for him, " Steve says and turns to the stove. Natasha nods and picks her book up again.

It's true. Since Steve and Peter started getting closer he'd been sleeping better, feeling better, he's always got something to look forward to. Part of him doesn't want to put all that on a guy who's got so much life ahead of him. 

It's comfortably quiet while Steve cooks the beef and boils water and mulls over his feelings. Just as Steve's mixed the meat in with the sauce and put noodles in to boil, he hears sleepy padded footsteps behind him. 

He turns to see Peter in nothing but a pair of Steve's pajama pants, the only thing keeping them up are the strings drawn tight around his hips.

He looks warm and fluffy, hair widly curly and eyes droopy and it's like all the strings pulled tight in Steve's chest release all at once. He looks at Steve but sees Natasha and looks conflicted. 

"How's that hangover?" Natasha asks to break the ice. Peter shakes his head. 

"I wish I was born in Russia," Peter answers, shrugging, and opening the fridge. 

"Hey I'm making dinner, don't spoil it," he warns, a little giddy with the domesticity of it all, with Peter of all people. 

Peter peeks his head around the fridge door and raises a sleep-mussed eyebrow. 

"For me?" 

Steve chuckles and sets his spatula down to turn to Peter. 

"For us, yeah. And Nat, if she wants some," Steve says and turns to the island. 

There's an empty space where Natasha was, nothing but a circle of condensation on the marble left over.

"Does that get less spooky?" Peter asks, and Steve laughs and pulls the younger man to him, unable to keep away from all the warm and soft. 

"Never does. How was your nap, sleepyhead?" He changes the subject and sweeps at the hair on Peter's forehead. 

He gets a sheepish look and grabs at the hem of Steve's shirt to fiddle with it. 

"Sorry I fell asleep," he says, biting his lower lip when he gazes up at Steve through long eyelashes. 

"You've had an exciting day," Steve says back, rubbing circles in between the younger man's shoulder blades. 

Peter nods and lets his head rest on Steve's chest. Steve wants to stay there forever, but he hears the sauce bubbling behind him and feels his stomach rumble. 

"Take a seat, I'll make you a plate," Steve tells him with a kiss to his messy curls. 

They sit and eat and make quiet conversation and Steve feels like his life is finally becoming normal, like all he needed was one cute, sweet little puzzle piece to complete the big picture. 

And everything is normal for a while. He and Peter fall into a domestic routine. Steve's always the first one to wake up, he makes himself breakfast, goes on a run, then wakes Peter up for his first meal and Steve's second. From there they hit the gym together, and Peter's even started to catch on to Steve's moves. They always take a long shower together after, and by then they're both hungry.

They do their own thing in the afternoons, Peter usually heads to the lab while Steve reads or catches up on a new piece of media he's been goaded into watching. Sometimes they'll go out on Steve's motorcycle or walk in the park or get ice cream. 

Then Peter leaves to patrol around the city every other night. He always tells Steve not to wait up for him, but Steve always does. 

One thing that hasn't made itself routine is the sex. It's routine in that it happens at least once a day, but three weeks into their relationship Steve still has yet to get used to the things Peter can do, the things Peter asks of him, the things Peter wants in bed (and couch and shower and balcony and Tony's bathtub while he's away.)

For example, Peter gets home earlier than usual from patrolling one night and Steve's in his own quarters discovering the joys of mockumentaries. When Peter comes through the door Steve is instantly concerned.

"You're back early," he says, pausing Netflix and standing up from the couch, "are you okay?" 

Peter rolls his eyes and grins wide, dropping his bag at the door. 

"You're a worry wart," he starts, making his way to Steve. He presses a finger to his broad pecks accusingly, "I just missed you a little extra tonight." 

Steve smiles at that and wraps Peter in his arms, smelling his fruity shampoo immediately. 

"Of course I worry," Steve kisses his hair and squeezes him tighter, "how will I ever find someone as perfect as you, huh?"

Peter giggles and nuzzles into Steve, slinking a cold hand up his shirt. 

"What are you watching? Wanna cuddle?" Peter asks, peering up at Steve through fluttering lashes. 

"How could I say no?" Steve grins, wrapped entirely around the younger man's pinky finger. 

They settle into the suede cushions, Steve wedged into the corner and reclining, Peter's head resting on his stomach. He unpauses The Office and absent-mindedly strokes Peter's damp, dark curls. It's only a few minutes until the younger is restlessly squirming and toying with the hem of Steve's henley. 

"Whatcha need, angel?" He asks. He's used to a needy Peter after patrol, the adrenaline always fades into arousal, and Steve would be absolutely insane to have any qualms about it. 

"Do you know what cock warming is?" Peter asks, and Steve blinks at his boyfriend's curious gaze. 

"Um... is it exactly what it sounds like?" 

"Pretty much, I just wanna... keep it in my mouth while you watch TV," he explains, already popping Steve's fly open, and christ, that's not really what he thought it meant. 

"Well by all means," Steve practically groans, shifting his hips up to let him pull down his pants and briefs. 

Immediately Peter's hand grasps his soft cock and he nuzzles up against Steve's abdomen until he gets comfortable. Blood's already pumping steadily downward as Peter takes Steve into his warm, wet mouth. 

"Jeeze, Pete," Steve sighs, twirling those chestnut locks again.

Peter hums around his cock, getting heavier by the second, seemingly enjoying the way it slowy inflates and stretches his jaw. 

Steve tries hard to pay attention to the TV, he really does, because it's what Peter wants. But once his dick is at full attention it's in Peter's throat and he's making a point to breathe through his nose while he swallows around it and Steve is only human. 

"Baby," he grumbles deep, "teasing me so good."

He lets his thumb trace the seam where his dick and Peter's lips meet, slick and cold from all the drool. The younger man lets out a whine and does something wicked with his tongue that makes Steve's hips jerk. 

"Oh my god, what are you doing to me?" 

He can't take it. Peter's so good and so warm and safe and his last bit of resolve is withering away. 

For the first time in what feels like hours, Peter lets Steve slip from inside his mouth with obscene slurping noises and shallow breaths. 

"You aren't very good at this," Peter teases, letting one slender hand slide up his shirt to tease a tiny, rock-hard bud on Steve's chest. 

"Yeah, well you're too good at this," Steve says, smearing the drool on Peter's chin with his rough thumb. Peter grins and bats his eyes. 

"We'll work on it, you can fuck my mouth now, if you want."

And so Steve does. And everything is perfect like this, domestic and normal, until late August. 

It's a cooler night and Steve and Peter are sound asleep, tangled together for body heat. The silence throughout the compound is broken by Friday in the middle of the night. 

"Intruder detected, Panic Room Protocol activated."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Peter are forced to bring up the big, traitorous elephant in the room.

"What was that?"

"Intruder detected, Panic Room Protocol activated," Friday repeats. 

"Shit! Don't move, stay right here," Steve says, adrenaline immediately overwhelming his body, knocking the sleep right out of his eyes. 

He doesn't bother getting dressed, just grabs the pistol from his nightstand and gives Peter one last look to be sure he hasn't gotten any ideas. 

All the lights are on when he sneaks into the hallway and closes the door quietly. Tony's away, Bucky and Sam Natasha and Carol are all in the field, Steve thinks. Thor, Bruce and Loki should be the only ones left in the living quarters, he calculates. 

He creeps around the hallway and peeks out into the open common room, and jumps at the noise behind him. 

It's Thor, wielding stormbreaker with Loki peering out from behind him. Steve doesn't make a sound, but covers his lips with one finger before turning his head back. He moves further into the living space as quiet as possible, pointing the pistol with practiced hands at the ground in front of him.

He hears a creak coming from the kitchen and moves to get a closer look. On the other side of the island he catches a lightning-fast glimpse of a shadow and starts to aim as he closes in. 

"Hands behind your head, show yourself or I'll shoot!" he warns. 

It happens so fast, the man in a ski mask pops up from behind the counter, aiming his own gun at Steve. 

One, two, three shots are fired, one past Steve's ear and two straight through the burglar's chest. 

He hears a faint cry behind him over the ringing in his ears, just as the masked man falls to the ground. He looks back and expects Thor or Loki to have taken fire, but it's Peter. He's in boxers and Steve's white undershirt, now stained red at the shoulder, and he's clutching his arm, suspended by his webs from the ceiling. 

"Oh god, Peter, no," he's groaning, rushing over to catch the young man in his arms. 

"I'm fine, it's just a graze, it's already healing," Peter says, wincing.

Steve's already on auto-pilot, carrying him bridal-style past Thor and Loki and straight to Bruce, who had been peeking around his open door. 

"It's not fine, you could've been hurt, I could have hurt you, I told you to-- Bruce what do I do?"

He's trying to stay calm as Bruce ushers them into the elevator. He's trying not to scold Peter for only trying to help and most of all he's trying not to think about Berlin and how he's already hurt Peter before, but it's no use. 

He hands Peter over to the bigger, greener man as the doors open to the medical bay. He can faintly hear Bruce barking out orders at the sparse medical staff, and tries to breathe, but he's too far gone. His vision is tunneling as he braces himself on the nearest wall and all he can see is himself, throwing Peter into the wheels of a jet. All he can hear is Peter's small, meak voice crying out "Queens" as he's being crushed under tons of metal. 

\------ 

When Steve wakes up, Peter's there with a bandage on his bicep, and he's stroking Steve's beard. 

"You okay?" he asks, and Steve's confused because last he remembers, Peter was the one who was shot by some maniac who snuck past every officer and security code to wave a gun around in their kitchen. 

Peter must sense this as he starts to explain what happened, how he threw up all over his own feet and then hit his head, passing out from what Bruce described as a panic attack. 

Bruce is there, nodding his head at Peter's story, checking the heart monitor that Steve's attached to. 

"Sweetheart, please tell me you're okay," Steve says, tears in his eyes, guilt bubbling up again. 

"I'm fine Steve, I promise, Bruce says it'll be closed up by morning," he says, swiping Steve's sweaty hair from his eyes, "but what about you? You freaked us out big time. A guy as big you, dead weight in his own vomit just from a little blood... we didn't know what happened." 

Steve doesn't want to bring it up and mull over a subject Peter made him promise to drop way before they had even gotten together. He doesn't think he'd even get a word out without blowing chunks all over again. 

"I just worry about you, you know that," he manages instead, looking into sweet, maple eyes. Peter's not buying it, brows furrowed, but Bruce interjects. 

"You should be fine to head back to bed. You'll probably sleep for another 8 hours, panic attacks can really tucker you out. Friday's got you both under constant surveillance, Tony's protocol, so there's not much to worry about." 

Steve thanks him as Peter heaves him out of bed. They pass Thor and Loki and a few officers talking on their way to their room and under the covers. 

"I'm so sorry, Pete," Steve whispers, petting the hair on the head that's resting against his chest, his eyes welling up again. 

"Don't be," is all Peter can say, eyelids drooping heavily. 

His slow breathing and warmth only add to how exhausted Steve is, and he's out before his mind can conjure up all the unspeakable things he'd done back in Germany. 

\----  
For the second time in a row he wakes up to Peter's worried face, only this time he hears screaming and he can't move. Then he recognizes his own voice yelling, and sees lithe, nimble fingers around his wrists, and his gut sinks. 

He hasn't had a nightmare since that night he fell asleep with Peter on the couch. All that progress lost, he thinks, settling into the bedsheets. Peter's grasp loosens and he starts to circle his thumbs over Steve's veins. The rushing in his ears makes way to a soft, soothing voice.

"You're safe, you're in New York, do you know what year it is?"

"Yeah, yeah it's 2021, thanks Pete," Steve says, catching his shaky breath, sitting up in bed. 

Peter's got concern all over his face, sharpening his features, and all Steve can do is bury his head in Peter's bare chest and sob. 

Peter coos, one hand pulling him close at the shoulders, the other carding through Steve's hair, matted with sweat and sleep. 

The younger doesn't say a thing and Steve is so, so grateful. He holds him and lets him cry until there isn't anything left and he's got a sad smile on his face when they pull away from each other. It makes Steve wonder how he ever dealt with these things without Peter.

"You don't have to talk about it, but I'll listen," he says, voice shaken but comforting. 

Steve can't lie to him now, no matter what promises he'd previously made about the topic.

"Seeing you hurt, I couldn't stop thinking about the airport," Steve says, tears threatening to make another appearance, "I'm so fucking sorry, Peter. I'll never, ever hurt you like that again. I want to keep you safe. I couldn't protect you earlier and it killed me."

Peter kisses him tenderly, lets his warm hands settle on the back of his neck. 

"I know you'd never hurt me, Steve. Getting shot was my own fault, I should have stayed in bed I just... you know. If I hid in here and you got hurt, how do you think I'd feel?" 

Steve chuckles at that, rolling his eyes at how hopeless they both are.

"I know sweetheart, I know. You're too good," he says, kissing him again, settling his hands on those slender hips.

"You don't have to be sorry anymore, okay? It wasn't your fault, we both know what a mess it was back then. Easier said than done, I know, but... you're forgiven a million times over," Peter tells him, head nuzzling into his shoulder. 

Steve embraces him, sighing, wondering how the hell he's gonna get back to sleep after the eventful night they've had. 

"You wanna go watch the sun rise?" Peter asks, and Steve's heart melts. 

They get just dressed enough to be decent, Steve's got some old ratty pajama pants on and nothing else. Peter's in his tight little boxer briefs he wears around all the time without a breath of protest from anyone in the compound, and he swims in Steve's shirt from the day before. Peter doesn't object when Steve picks him up and carries him out to the couch on the terrace, nor when he's settled into Steve's lap and cradled like a newborn. 

They sit quietly and look at the sky, black and blue and purple as it prepares to make way to the sun. Peter's hands look tiny in comparison to the one of Steve's; he's worrying it with little squeezes and strokes as he burrows into Steve's neck.

"I can't tell you what I'd do without you," Steve finally speaks. He feels it swelling in his chest when he looks at Peter, his crinkly smile and his fluffy hair and his soft, tired eyes. Peter's beaming at him and Steve blindly reaches for the dog tags around his neck. 

Before Peter knows what's happening, Steve settles the chain over Peter's head and pulls him into a kiss by the necklace. 

"I'll always take care of you, no matter what," he mumbles into his lips, then he whispers, "I love you." 

Peter pulls away quickly, eyebrows high on his head, and Steve has never wanted to be able to read minds as much as he does now. A second or two passes and Peter's crashing his lips into Steve's again. 

"I love you, Steve," he pulls away just quick enough to say, tangling their lips and sliding his hands through Steve's beard. 

It's been far too long since Steve's been able to love anyone, and the feeling being reciprocated makes him feel as light as a feather underneath Peter. 

It starts to get brighter outside, but Peter's making the sweetest little noises and squirming in his lap while they kiss and it makes Steve weak. 

"You wanna go back to bed?" he asks, taking a deep breath. 

Peter shakes his head, attaching their lips again and pulling Steve's hand to his boxers, straining and a little wet. 

"You're gonna kill me, Pete," he mumbles, cock jumping when the younger grinds down against it. 

"Take care of me, Steve," he whispers, moving to straddle his lap, nibbling on Steve's earlobe. 

The hot breath there makes his blood boil and he grips Peter's hips, lets his hands slide underneath his boxers to squeeze his ass. He eats up all the moans it rips from Peter, bucks his hips up to feel Peter through their thin layers. 

"Gotta be quick, babydoll," Steve purrs, voice heavy with lust. Peter grabs one of his wrists, brings it up to his face so he can suck two fingers into his sinfully warm mouth. 

It makes Steve speechless, watching the silky trail of saliva connect his fingers to those red, enticing lips. He's snapped out of his daze when Peter stands to slide his briefs down, his own shirt long enough to cover everything indecent, making him that much more irresistible. 

"Get me ready for your cock," he says, straddling him again, maneuvering to pull Steve's dick through the fly of his pajamas. 

He can't keep up with Peter stroking him like this, firm pressure and slow movements drawing a groan out of him. His brain finally catches up and he reaches around with both hands once more. 

One hand pulls his cheeks apart so his spit-slick fingers can circle Peter's entrance, so reactive under his light touches. 

"I need you, please," Peter begs, arching his back, desperate for any part of Steve to stretch him open. 

He's not as tense and tight as he was when they started out, is practiced in the art of relaxation, knows how to take Steve so quick it drives the latter crazy. 

His middle finger slides in smooth, and Steve thinks he'll never get over how soft and hot Peter feels inside. It only takes a few thrusts before Peter's asking for another, sliding in flawlessly next to the first. 

"So good, Steve, treat me so good," Peter whines, sinking his teeth into the super soldier's neck. He's still stroking Steve's cock, squeezing the head and teasing his slit, making it drip and jerk. 

"Almost ready angel? Want me to fill you up?" 

"Yes, need it now, please," Peter gasps. 

No further encouragement needed, Steve withdraws his hand and holds Peter up by the hips. The younger spits in his hand to get one last layer spread over Steve's cock and then he's lifting up, shifting his hips, and sinking down slowly. 

The way Peter lets him in makes it feel like they were made for this, like Peter is his perfect little puzzle piece, scalding and slick around him. In no time at all he's bottomed out, panting with his forehead against Steve's own. 

"Feel good?" Steve asks, stroking the soft skin of his back underneath the shirt he kept on. 

Peter whines out his response and digs his nails into Steve's shoulder blades. Steve pulls back just enough to watch as he slowly begins to ride him. 

He'll never get used to this, Steve thinks. Every time is new and exciting and different. The stark contrast between his pajama bottoms and his cock out, Peter's bare ass taking it right here where anyone could see them. He's sure there are guards somewhere watching this footage in disbelief but that only adds to how god damn perfect it is.

Peter's biting at his own bottom lip, shifting up and down with unsteady movements, and it's not enough for either of them. Steve can tell by the frustrated little grunts and how Peter's brows knit together. 

Steve tightens his grip on his boyfriend's hips, stalling him, making him whine with exasperation. 

"I've got you doll, let me take care of you," Steve says, taking Peter's lips in his own, and thrusting up slow and deep. 

The sounds Peter makes, god, Steve wants them on a 12 inch vinyl record to play over and over and over again. He swallows most of them, but Peter's head lolls back as Steve picks up the pace and he's crying out in little gasps and moans and squeals for the entire compound to hear. 

Too far gone to care about the show they're putting on, Steve continues to fuck up into Peter as he grabs the younger man's dick in one hand. It's sloppy, with Peter bouncing in his lap like a ragdoll, but it doesn't bother him one bit, just makes his cries that much louder and more desperate. 

There's so much emotion in it, more than Steve's ever had with a partner. He wants and he needs, he's desperate to make Peter feel how desirable he is, how loved he is. It's absolutely mesmerizing, everything about it. The way Peter looks with hooded eyes, bite-swollen lips, his dick bobbing and leaking and rock hard where it peeks out from Steve's old shirt, it makes Steve fuzzy with lust and affection.

Peter's slobbering now, and slurring out "faster" and "please" and "Steve" on repeat. Steve can't look away from his face, red and covered in sweat, eyes closed and mouth open in a perfect "o" shape around his incoherent pleas. 

"You're so pretty. God, you're perfect," Steve grunts, barely holding on at the way Peter squeezes around him delightfully with every thrust. He's bucking up as fast as he can while stroking Peter off, and he's starting to break a sweat, but he's caught between chasing release and wanting to make this last forever. 

Birds are starting to chirp and a little sliver of sun is winding through the cracks of the forest around them, and Peter's eyes glow golden when he looks down at Steve through droopy lids. 

"I'm so close Steve, it's so good," Peter gasps, clutching onto Steve's broad shoulders, dog tags swinging and clinking together between them. 

"Me too, me too," Steve pants, head spinning, "love you so much, let go for me."

Peter does, paints Steve's chest and abs and cries out in the most painfully gorgeous way. He shudders and shivers and clenches around Steve as he babbles out "I love you"s and affirmations and it's just too much to handle. Steve doesn't stop thrusting or stroking until Peter's shaking and he's sure he's milked every last drop from him. 

He wraps his arms around Peter and pulls him close, fucks up into him with his face buried in Peter's neck. A few deep, pointed thrusts and he's spilling himself within Peter's spasming heat. He feels it drip down himself and onto his pants, his senses are on edge as Peter peels himself away just enough to kiss Steve again, fisting his hair and groaning with exasperation. 

Steve pulls away to look around and make sure they hadn't caught anyone's attention. Peter blushes the prettiest pink and tugs at the bottom of the shirt two sizes too big for him. 

"You really liked that, huh?" Steve asks, clutching a pointy chin in his fingers, forcing eye contact, "You like the thought of someone seeing me fuck you?"

Peter's eyes jump around before they meet Steve's again, and he nods with a sheepish grin. 

"I want everyone to know I'm yours," he says softly, letting a hand reach up to toy with the dog tags hanging from his neck. 

"Now they will, right?" Steve smiles, covering Peter's hand with his own. 

Peter nods happily and kisses Steve again, quick and teasing, before sliding off of Steve's dick, still hard and angry red and just a bit too sensitive. Steve chokes out a moan and marvels at the sight in front of him, creamy white cum dripping down Peter's porcelain thighs and soaking through a spot on his briefs when he puts them back on. 

Thoroughly debached, he corrals Peter back inside, arm around his waist, hand squeezing his slender hip. Luckily everyone else is still in their rooms and they make it to their own without an event. 

He loves the way Peter faceplants into the bed, sticking his ass out for Steve to clean him up. He does so lovingly, pressing kisses to his thighs and back before crawling into bed with him. 

They lay silent for a while, Steve sneaking a hand under his briefs to squeeze Peter's ass and tease the stretched-out, cum-slick pucker. He's quietly committing to memory the way the sun splices through the curtains and dances across faint freckles and pale skin, the way Peter whimpers under his administrations. 

"We should get some sleep," Peter says, but Steve hears the implication and grows warm at the thought that he's finally got someone looking after him. 

The older man scoops Peter up and cradles him to his chest, kissing what he can reach and sighing with content. 

"I'll be right here when you wake up," Peter tells him, a hand resting over his unsteady heartbeat. 

"Goodnight angel," Steve smiles, planting one last kiss into the fruity scented curls. 

"Sleep tight," Peter yawns. 

Steve still has a lot to hash out with himself, but this, he thinks, is one thing he's finally got figured out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly suck so bad at putting characters I love through tough situations, so, sorry lol. I'm not an angst writer by any means.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think, tell me what you'd like to see in upcoming chapters!


End file.
